


drunk as drunk on turpentine, from your open kisses

by rockcandyshrike



Series: The Wardrobe (or I didn't realize my clothing kink was so strong until I wrote several fics of it) [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Amazon Position, Anal Sex, Clothing Porn, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Banter, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, which is super fucking hot but a hassle to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockcandyshrike/pseuds/rockcandyshrike
Summary: An idea slowly percolates in Baze’s head.“We should hand off some of the toiletries to the younglings. I’m sure Bodhi will appreciate the mango-scented shampoo. We’ll have to pack carefully for the trip back to base.”Chirrut swallows his mouthful of mini quiche and frowns perplexedly, “Why would we need to do that?”Baze thumbs at a smear of cheese on Chirrut’s upper lip and says, “We’ll need to make room for your new formal wear.”{The spiritual sequel to the fucking in the club fic}





	drunk as drunk on turpentine, from your open kisses

**Author's Note:**

> SHOUT OUT TO MAH GURL BRY FOR BETA READING THIS U DA BOMB ILYYYY.
> 
> This was based off a prompt from Kinktober. Yes, I started this motherfucker in *October* and you have no idea how relieved I am to finally finish it.
> 
> Title from a Pablo Neruda poem bc he's my favorite poet and his poems are the sexiest. (True objective fact)

Baze wants to get off this planet yesterday.

No offense to the Xeqiini people or their planet, and it is a truly beautiful planet. With verdant forests, sparkling waterfalls, gorgeous flora and fauna, the planet is as close to paradise as one could possibly get—if one ignored the treacherous, towering spikes of granite that made flying into the capital city impossible. It was so dangerous that the only reliable way in was landing kilometers away, scaling the precipitous rocks, and then hopefully not getting blasted to pieces by the local inhabitants at the gate. Thankfully, the local inhabitants had been more than happy to welcome the rebel alliance diplomatic envoy and had let them stay in the spacious rooms of their opulent palace. The diplomatic negotiations with the previously isolationist civilization for resources and monetary aid had been a resounding success, and a large banquet was currently being held with scrumptious food and live entertainment. A jewel of a party to top off a perfect mission.

Baze is hiding in his and Chirrut's room.

That's not entirely accurate, Baze isn’t hiding. He’d developed a splitting headache earlier in the day and had to bow out of the festivities to sleep it off. Chirrut had wanted to stay with him to soothe his misery with soft words and gentle cuddles, but since meeting the last Guardian of the Whills had been a major reason for the Xeqiini people's hospitality in the first place, being worshipers of the Force themselves, he couldn't beg off attending the soiree. He’d been put out, but Baze had assured him he would be fine after a painkiller and a nap, and so Chirrut had been ushered away to be dressed for the formal dinner with only mild complaining.

The point remains that Baze would've been a lot happier doing something useful.

But there’s nothing for it, all he can do is wait for tomorrow when the envoy returns to base. At least he feels significantly better after waking from a restful nap and then indulging in a hot bath. The bathroom had been stocked with an assortment of luxurious soaps and bath oils, and Baze had applied them to his skin on a whim. He smelled like a subtle blend of local woods and spices, with an underlying, heady bite of musk if the nose was pressed right to the skin. And if he had taken extra care to wash thoroughly and deeply _…_ that was no one’s business but Chirrut’s and his own.

Speaking of his handsome devil of a husband, Baze doesn’t hear him enter the room until Chirrut flings himself onto the bed with a melodramatic groan. Baze chuckles and turns away from the open window, the tinkling strains of music floating up from the gardens.

“Have fun at the party?”

Chirrut waves an arm vaguely at him, the gauzy sleeve of his chiton fluttering behind the gesture. “It was boring. So much glad-handing and ass-kissing. I suppose it was nice enough, but it still would’ve been nicer if you’d been there beside me.” He flops over onto his back, grinning impishly up at Baze from the middle of the sleep-mussed sheets. “We could’ve danced the night away.”

Baze matches Chirrut’s grin with a wicked smile of his own and pads over to the bed while unbuttoning his shirt. The mattress dips under Baze’s weight as he tosses it to the side and sprawls out next to his husband. He leans forward to murmur against his lips, “I have an idea of how else we can while the night away.”

Chirrut slides a hand into his hair and says, “I have an idea of what your idea is,” before bringing their mouths together into a slow kiss. Sipping from his lips as though they are sweet nectar wine, Chirrut brings his other hand down to toy with one of Baze’s nipples. It stiffens to a peak as he rolls it between his fingers and Baze groans roughly. He takes Chirrut’s face into his hands, redirecting the kiss so he can slip his tongue into Chirrut’s mouth and share the taste of his desire. Baze takes his time to devour his mouth, a far more delectable feast than the one he’d missed. When Chirrut pulls back for breath, Baze nibbles at his lush lower lip and nudges his thigh between Chirrut’s to rock against his hardening cock. A quivery whimper spills out of his throat; Baze could get drunk on that sound alone.

“Give me a moment,” Chirrut mumbles as he disentangles himself to stand. He unbuckles the decorative belt at his waist and flings it behind him, narrowly missing a vase. “Don’t tell our hosts, but the Xeqiini are excessively body-conscious. They’re obsessed with having the slimmest silhouette possible and stuck us in the tightest foundation garments they could find.”

Baze snorts as he wiggles out of his pants and remarks, “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t go. And why would they shove you of all people into foundation garments? You’re a genetic anomaly with no body fat who doesn’t age.”

“Is that jealousy I hear, my plum?” Chirrut teases while he fiddles with the clasp of the dress at the nape of his neck.

“Ha, why would I be jealous? I’m the one who reaps the benefits, and I know how much you like _my_ body,” Baze shoots back with a lascivious curl to his voice. Chirrut throws his head back and laughs.

“Either way, this thing isn’t the most comfortable and I’m going to need your help to take it off.” Chirrut makes a triumphant noise when he finally undoes the clasp.

Baze digs through the bedside table for lube and asks, “Why do you need...” His voice trails off when Chirrut lets the chiton drop to the ground. He forgets to breathe when his husband sets his hands on his hips and turns around.

“Could you unlace me, darling?”

Baze drops the lube. He reaches down to squeeze the base of his cock, trying not to lose control. All the blood in his body has rushed to his groin and with none left for his brain, Baze can do nothing but stare dumbstruck at the sight of his husband _wearing a fucking corset._ Chirrut’s waist isn’t thin, it’s still compact but thick with muscle, yet the corset accentuates his waist enough for the slightest dip to appear. It would be the perfect place for Baze to dig his thumbs in. The snow white material of the corset contrasts beautifully with the light gold of his skin, but somehow the skin peeking out from between the ribbons crisscrossing up his spine is more alluring than the rest of his bare body, which is already exceedingly so. The dainty lace underlining his shoulder blades is overwhelming Baze. The perfectly-tied bow at the small of Chirrut’s back is _ruining_ him.

Chirrut looks so pretty Baze almost can’t decide whether he wants to eat him up with his eyes or his mouth.

“Baze?”

Almost.

Baze stands on shaky legs to walk up behind his husband. When he sets his hands at the new, tiny dip in his waist, he bites his lip to stifle an embarrassing noise and squeezes gently. His throat is dry as desert sand. He swallows. It helps; now his throat is only as dry as beach sand. He swallows again, chokes, and coughs fitfully until Chirrut turns his head towards him to ask, “Are you alright?” with bemusement written across his face.

“Fine,” Baze responds with his voice like gravel, “I’m— _ahem—_ I’m fine. Is this restricting your breathing?”

“Hmm, no. Jyn’s corset was too tight and she nearly passed out during the party. She’s fine, she’s fine, don't worry,” Chirrut reassures before Baze can interject, patting one of his hands that had tightened on reflex, “She slipped behind a hedge and cut some seams out with the hardlight vibroknife you gave her for her birthday. Apparently she was hiding it in her hair.”

“A classic tactic,” Baze mutters approvingly.

“Ha! You’ve certainly used it often enough,” Chirrut curls a lock of Baze’s hair around his finger and brings it to his lips for a kiss. “Anyway, this corset isn’t the comfiest, but no, it isn’t restricting my breathing. Wearing this thing is a cakewalk compared to our sixth duan trial on top of the salt mesas.”

Baze lays kisses along Chirrut’s shoulder as his husband talks, shifting closer to press their bodies together. The satin ribbon is cool between the near feverish heat of their bodies. The knot of the bow lightly nudges against his navel, and Baze has no idea why that sends a pulse to his cock, but he’s not going to question it. He mouths up Chirrut’s neck, lingering on the most sensitive areas Baze has spent hours, even days, lavishing attention upon because they pull the loveliest reactions out of his husband. Chirrut is turning loose and pliant in his arms under his tender ministrations and Baze hums low in his chest as he brings a hand down to cup his groin. Chirrut bucks into his hand and gasps when Baze sucks at his favorite place, the spot on his jaw beneath the corner of Chirrut’s mouth, right below where his cheek juts out whenever he frowns or pouts, the spot Baze kisses first whenever he comforts Chirrut after some injustice in the world has angered his righteous beloved. He bites at it, licks it to soothe the sting, and then nuzzles into his ear to rumble,

“Keep it on. Please?” he punctuates the request with a kiss to the other side of his neck, and since Baze has precisely zero compunctions about playing dirty, he drags his teeth up his husband’s throat at an agonizing pace, making sure his beard leaves behind marks; he wants Chirrut to show off the imprints of his love for everyone to see. He nibbles behind his right ear and whips out the dirtiest trick he knows, “For me, my guiding star?”

Chirrut’s spine turns to liquid—he shivers with delight as he slumps back against Baze’s broad chest. His expression glazes over, but he shakes it off enough to ask with a half-incredulous laugh coloring his voice, “Were you softening me up so you could ask that?”

“I am definitely not softening you up,” Baze drawls as he palms Chirrut’s straining cock through his underwear. Chirrut bursts out laughing and Baze can’t resist scattering kisses all over his face when it shines with mirth like this. By the moons, does he love this man.

Chirrut calms down enough to raise a hand and caress Baze’s face as he concedes, “Alright, not the best phrasing. Butter me up, that’s better.”

“You look ravishing and I want you to ravish me—” he catches Chirrut’s ear between his teeth and tugs lightly. “Prepped myself while I was taking a bath, thinking about how much I want you. How much I need you, Chirrut.”

“How can I say no to that?” Chirrut rasps out.

Baze spins his husband around and drags him back to the bed, their hands groping and roaming over each other’s bodies as they kiss and stumble, overeager like they’re young men again—or perhaps simply overeager like men who are in love. Baze laps up the sweat running down Chirrut’s chest into the lace bordering the top of the corset and Chirrut ‘s head lolls back with a sigh. The sigh transforms into a filthy moan when Baze closes his lips around a nipple barely peeking over the bust and sucks wetly. Underclothing is discarded haphazardly and when Baze bumps into the edge of the bed, Chirrut topples him with a devious hook of his ankle. He kisses his way down Baze’s body with a predatory look in his eyes.

“Give me the slick,” he commands and Baze fumbles the little bottle into his husband’s hand, scooting up the bed to give Chirrut more room between his thighs. He bites his lips as Chirrut takes his time smearing kisses over every inch of his thick thighs. Chirrut’s teeth nip dangerously close to his heavy, drawn up sac and he smirks when Baze gasps in surprise. A frisson shoots through his body like a live current when Chirrut smirks wider and flicks his tongue out to tease along the swell, before taking it into his mouth. Baze jerks his hips up and groans, tossing his head to the side when Chirrut’s fingers grip tight at his hips to keep him still, and then travel down to rub circles around his rim. He alternates between pressing hard and light against his hole, all the while lapping at Baze with lips, tongue, and enthusiasm, yet ignoring his achingly hard cock. Baze would deal with it himself if he wasn’t preoccupied with clinging onto the sheets and his sanity.

Chirrut pulls his mouth off of Baze with an obscene slurp and pops open the cap of the bottle he’d been warming in his other hand. He squeezes a dollop out to land on the sensitive skin above his rim; Baze pants raggedly into the pillow as it drips down, down, down until it slides over his hole and Chirrut gathers it up with nimble fingers to guide it inside him. One finger slips in easily and Chirrut pauses, surprised by the effortless glide. Baze whines wordlessly for more—Chirrut licks his lips as he works in a second finger Baze accepts just as easily. A third takes a bit more finesse and another squirt of lube, but soon enough he’s stretched around three fingers rubbing unerringly over his prostate. Baze moans with every stroke and half-buries his face into the pillow, but he can tell from the way Chirrut’s breath is whistling through his nose that the only thing keeping his husband from falling upon him like a starving wolf is his hard-won and finely honed self-discipline. The way he’s grabbing at his own cock is also rather telling.

“Fuuuuck,” the word sounds like it’s being dragged kicking and screaming out of Chirrut’s chest, “you were _thorough_ in the bath.” He twists his fingers as he says it and Baze keens loudly. When he curls them and presses his thumb into Baze’s perineum synchronously, Baze cries out, “Chirrut!” hands scrabbling at his shoulders and feet digging into the mattress to thrust back against his fingers. Chirrut swears again, leaning in to kiss and worry at Baze’s collarbones.

“You taste so good, Baze” he growls as he licks up Baze’s neck to suck at the soft skin under his chin, “sound and smell and feel so good too. I’m going to take you apart, piece by piece, make you forget everything but my name.” Chirrut winds his other hand into Baze’s hair and claims his mouth hungrily; Baze kisses back the best he can as his nerves catch fire. They break off the kiss, both heaving for breath, and Chirrut utters against his lips, “Everything but my name and my love.”

“Please,” Baze begs, though he doesn’t know whether for mercy or for more.

“Hmmm, I guess I’ll let you keep that word too,” Chirrut teases as he coaxes Baze’s hole into taking a fourth finger.

Baze surfaces enough from his mind-consuming lust to complain, “Chirrut, fuck, come on, you’re not that big, you ass.”

“I still want to take my time with you, beloved,” Chirrut croons as he bites and kisses his way back down Baze’s body. “Warming you up is one of my favorite things, how could you take that away from me?”

“So you’d get inside me as quickly as possible, one of _mine_ ,” Baze grouses with a hitch in his breath as Chirrut pumps in and out. He almost swallows his tongue when Chirrut flutters all four fingers over his prostate and he barely manages to choke out, “I meant with your cock!”

“Patience, Baze Malbus,” Chirrut singsongs smugly as he hovers over where Baze is clenching around his scissoring fingers, before gently drawing them out to leave him slack and empty. Baze makes an animal noise as Chirrut spreads him wide with his thumbs, his rim gaping a little and sloppy with slick. Chirrut wets his lips and husks out, “I had to schmooze for hours with _politicians,_ and all the while you were touching yourself and thinking of me. It’s enough to make the most virtuous of saints want to wreck you.” A dark chuckle, a smooch to his thigh, and then Chirrut tilts his head to run the tip of his tongue delicately over Baze’s loose, pink hole.

A flood of arousal washes over Baze and he quakes, shifting to hold his thighs apart and give his husband more access. Chirrut knows he loves this, knows nothing else makes him falls apart as swiftly as getting licked out until he’s on the verge of screaming. Baze feels his muscles go taut with anticipation. A tremor wracks through his body and into the mattress when Chirrut pushes his tongue inside. Baze arches into it and groans unabashedly; Chirrut shudders in response.

And he keeps shuddering. Almost violently so, much to Baze’s confusion. He glances down and opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, before he realizes—Chirrut is having a giggle fit with his face buried in Baze’s ass. Which...he can’t say has never happened before, nor that it was unfamiliar. He flops his head back with an annoyed grunt.

“What,” he grits out, “is so damn funny right now?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Chirrut wheezes out and pats his flank conciliatorily, “It’s just— _snrk—_ you taste _exactly_ like peaches right now.” He descends into another fit of giggles, though he at least has the decency to try and smother it into Baze’s belly instead of his ass.

“What?” Baze stares at him bewilderedly. Chirrut is still giggling, so he smacks him upside the head and snaps, “Oi!”

“You do! Your ass taste exactly like peaches, it must be the lube.”

“You can’t be serious,” Baze deadpans.

“I am. Tell me, what’s in this stuff?” Chirrut asks as he comes down from his giggle fit and rubs the oil between his fingers.

Baze facepalms. This is where he has laid his affections. He struggles with himself between actually grabbing the slick and reading the ingredients list for his husband, or shoving Chirrut’s face back down between his thighs. He heaves a great, big sigh and gropes around the bed for the little bottle. Bringing it up to his face, he squints at the label.

“All it says is ‘lubricant’ in fancy cursive.”

Chirrut looks up from nuzzling Baze’s belly with a quizzical expression, “That’s it?”

“I’m assuming it’s artisan, organic, whatever, like everything else in the bathroom.” Reluctantly giving in to curiosity, Baze dabs a small glop of lube onto his finger and licks it, “...It tastes like peaches.”

“Yes! We should take the bottle with us when we leave.” Chirrut crawls up and kisses Baze’s cheek, before burying his face in his hair and breathing in deeply, “We should take whatever you put in your hair and on your skin too. I was making an understatement when I said you smell good. You smell _divine_.”

Baze thinks for a second and says, “Let’s take everything in the bathroom. The Xeqiini won’t miss some fancy soaps and oils.”

Chirrut makes a happy noise and leans back with a grin, “You’re a genius, my heart. Do we have room in our packs?”

“I can put some in my belt pouches if necessary, and you have hidden pockets in your robes. Hell, we might as well grab the fancy hand towels too.”

“Are they embroidered?”

“With flowers.”

“Even better,” Chirrut flashes a brilliant smile at the thought of petty theft.

Baze’s heart skips a beat as it always does when that smile is directed at him. He shakes his head and snorts at himself as he hauls Chirrut back in to take his mouth in a firm kiss. He sucks Chirrut’s lower lip into his mouth and his husband hums blissfully; he gives a muffled squeak when Baze bites down hard and growls, “Now are you going to fuck me or what?”

Chirrut laughs breathlessly, “I’m liking the sound of or what.”

Baze growls deeper in his chest and pulls Chirrut’s head back by his hair, raking his teeth down his throat. Chirrut lets out a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the mattress as Baze sucks a dark red hickey into his skin. He savors how Chirrut’s heartbeat gallops frantically under his lips, before flipping them over faster than he can blink. He bares his teeth against Chirrut’s cheek in a tigerish snarl, “I’ll tell you _or what_. You’re going to finish what you started.”

He pushes Chirrut flat on the bed with a “Stay,” and gazes to his heart’s content at Chirrut’s sex-flushed body. His face is already rosy with exertion (though Baze thinks to himself that his husband has no idea how hard Baze is going to ride him) and his neck and chest are equally florid. It makes the corset look strikingly white; sweet cream with ripe berries flash in his mind and Baze chuckles under his breath. The sheen of sweat all over his body makes it frictionless when he runs his hands up Chirrut’s strong arms, over his well-built shoulders, and down to shamelessly grope his pectorals. Chirrut’s gold starbird pendant gleams between his cleavage and inspiration clobbers Baze over the head; a position the two of them have never tried, despite the active (occasionally _over_ active) sexual imagination and peak physical ability of their youth, as well as the long, loving span of their relationship. Baze licks and sucks his way up Chirrut’s chest from the apex of the corset to the hollow of his throat with new eagerness. Chirrut writhes when he pinches both nipples and pants out, “Can’t finish what I started if you’re going to start something else.”

“Hush,” Baze grabs him by chin and growls in a subterraneanly low voice, “this mouth could be doing better things.”

Chirrut blushes bright and grins brighter—it’s a special grin though, the one Baze has termed “the gummy grin of ungodly glee” and it precedes all of Chirrut’s worst jokes. Baze kisses him to cut off what would no doubt be a terrible quip that would derail them again and grinds their cocks together. Chirrut moans into his mouth when he squeezes his chest, grasping at Baze’s ass and curving his body up into the pressure. The sinuous motion runs the corset’s smooth silk up Baze’s front, the bow sitting in the middle of the lace and the flat metal clasps adding a contrast Baze is quickly getting addicted to. It’s a struggle to tear himself away from the kiss, but he is determined to stick with his plan, no matter how distracting his husband can be.

And doesn’t that thought just summarize his life.

Baze snorts to himself and snatches Chirrut’s wrists to pin them above his head, “Hold still so I don’t kick you in the face.”

“Love, of the two of us, that’s more likely to happen to you,” Chirrut says bemusedly.

Baze rolls off his husband and concedes, “True, and it’s happened more often too, but my point still stands.”

“My point still stands, Baze,” Chirrut pouts as he humps the air to draw attention to his leaking cock, “What are you doing? Come baaack.”

“You’re like a child sometimes, I swear,” Baze grunts, carefully straddling Chirrut in reverse. He shifts back until he’s kneeling with his cock nestled between Chirrut’s pecs and his ass settled over Chirrut’s face. “ _Perfect,”_ he thinks.

“Oh, an all you-can-eat-buffet! Don’t mind if I do.”

Baze barks out a laugh he couldn’t have held back if he tried. He curls over Chirrut’s stomach as he cracks up so hard his lungs burn, shaking the bed and only cutting off with a yelp when Chirrut slaps his ass with both hands and a loud _crack_. He looks over his shoulder, and yep, there’s the gummy grin of ungodly glee in all its glory. How one man can irritate, arouse, and charm him all at once with a single dreadful innuendo Baze will never know.

“Well? Get to it,” he wiggles his ass as he sweeps the starbird pendant out of the way and picks up the lube, upending the bottle over Chirrut’s chest to pour a generous amount down his sternum. Chirrut hisses at the sudden slickness, but Baze grinds back with an amused huff to smother him. Capping the bottle and placing it on the nightstand, he sets his hands upon his husband’s round pectorals and presses them together to give himself a better channel to fuck. It’s shallow, but it’s enough that thrusting forward and then rolling his hips back onto Chirrut’s wet, insistent tongue punches a whorish moan out of him.

He rocks back and forth, steady and languid as early Jedhan spring melt, when the little snow that dusted the moon’s peaks during the winter would thaw into rare streams of freshwater; Baze remembers collecting it with husband, his lover then, drinking the ice cold purity from his cupped palms and Chirrut drinking the drops from his lips. Chirrut does something complex with his tongue and Baze is knocked back into the present. His breath escapes his lungs on a curse as Chirrut kneads the cheeks of his ass and plunges his face between as deeply as possible, methodically laving his tongue over Baze’s hole and sinking a little further in with each lick and slurp. The valley of soft skin over hard muscle clutching Baze’s half-enveloped cock is an exquisite contradiction, and every time he thrusts the tip of his cock grazes the lace edging the corset; it feels like molten lava pouring down his spine and searing through his synapses. Gradually his eyes fall shut as he coasts on the sensations, twin sources of pleasure veiling his mind in a haze of heat shimmer.

Baze jolts when Chirrut double-spanks him and he’s too far gone to care if someone hears him shout when Chirrut hooks two fingers inside him with merciless precision upon his prostate. A surge of precome dribbles from his twitching cock, adding to the mess on Chirrut’s chest, and he drags his nails through it as he rides his husband’s face more roughly. His hips piston til Chirrut claws at his ass, pushing up so he can wrest his head free, gulping for air like a diver with a faulty mask before croaking out, “Mama didn’t raise a quitter, but, dearest, I need to breathe. Zama-shiwo breath-holding techniques can only go so far.”

Baze chuckles and dismounts, Chirrut patting his ass in a two-beat tempo as he moves away, “You better not give up on me now.”

“I never give up,” Chirrut smiles with impressive serenity for someone who looks like he should be on the cover of a prohibited holoporn, ripe berry lips and cheeks soaked in spit and slick dripping down his face to his chest. Enough to warrant a triple X-rating all by himself. A sudden tidal wave of emotion threatens to unmoor him when Chirrut reaches one hand out to twine their fingers together, “Especially not on you.”

 _“Looking like that while saying such things,”_ Baze marvels to himself as he swipes up a fat drop of precome from the root of his husband’s rigid cock to the crown and feeds it to him, Chirrut’s tongue lolling out to dance around his thumb, _“People have given their lives for half of what I have.”_

He kisses Chirrut tenderly, mouth-forehead-laughter lines-favorite spot on his jaw, and whispers, “I love you.” Settling between Chirrut’s thighs, he presses his lips to a blaster scar above his heart and sighs, “You put every star in the sky, every flower in bloom, every painting in galleries to shame.”

Chirrut beams while he flexes, preening under Baze’s adoration, “And you put every poet past, present, and future to shame with how unbearably sappy you are, my dove.”

“Hypocrite,” Baze grunts, amused as he runs his hands down the other man’s legs, “How’s your breathing?”

“You almost _ass_ phyxiated me,” Chirrut pretends to gripe as he wipes his face on a sheet, his throbbing cock belying how much he enjoyed it, “but still good. You hav—oop!”

Baze rolls his eyes at the pun and folds Chirrut in half, grip on his calves certain to leave bruises. Leaning in to kiss his husband, he asks, “How about now? If I kept you in this position?” He goes to his feet and hovers over Chirrut in a crouch; understanding blazes like an inferno in his pale eyes.

“Ambitious,” he murmurs, hooking his arms behind his knees with a smile, “you think you can keep that up?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Baze lines up Chirrut’s cock with a shudder. His rim clenches rhythmically around the tip, desperate to suck the whole length in and relieve the emptiness edging him towards madness, “feel like I can go all night. Answer the question, can you breathe like this, Chirrut?”

Chirrut makes an affirmative noise and Baze sinks down til their thighs smack together. He groans with clear satisfaction, savoring the fullness he’s been craving all night. He stares down at Chirrut with hooded eyes and ripples relentlessly around his cock; watching his husband strain to hold back orgasm—sweat beading on his brow, veins popping in his neck—is nearly as good as the hot pressure inside of him. Baze’s breath stutters when a hand pumps his neglected, dripping cock, with special attention being paid to the crown. Chirrut’s other hand plays with one of Baze’s sensitive nipples and his mouth falls open from the double assault, like a castle under siege surrendering and dropping the drawbridge. Another shout is ripped out of Baze’s fortress-stout chest when both hands twist, on the verge of cruel yet still so loving.

“Are you going to move anytime soon, your Imperial Highness,” Chirrut gibes as breezy as a day for flying kites, though his jagged gasping undercuts the effect, “or are you going to lounge until the sun rises?”

Baze sighs unevenly and swivels his hips until Chirrut moans for the Force to take him, “You do make an excellent throne.”

“Only the best for your majestic ass.” Chirrut uses what little leverage he has and rocks Baze closer, “now _please._ ” His words gutter out into a sharp note of base, primal need.

Baze soaks in Chirrut’s flustered, fuck-drunk state; a sight that belongs only to him. This man made of spun light and blood-tempered defiance, who can weave beguiling half-truths and serpentine riddles without end, break down enemies in mere seconds with words or fists, withstand both the harshest environs of Jedha and the direst crossfires of battlefields with unparalleled composure—this man lies undone and unwound beneath him. It’s even better than being stuffed with his cock (by half a smidgen, but still). Readjusting his position so Chirrut’s cock slides out til only the tip is buried inside him, Baze inhales slow and deep to center himself. He releases half of it as though he were lining up a shot and snaps his hips down to take his pleasure, starting up a rhythm to match his pulse drumming in his ears.

Chirrut’s hands play his body like a harp, the sinews of Baze’s muscles pulled taut as Chirrut plucks on his nipples or glides his fingers up and down his cock. The room is filled with the filthy sound of their love-making, underscored by Chirrut murmuring praises and curses while Baze rides him like his life depends on it. Baze feels himself spasm when he finds the right angle to hit his prostate; Chirrut capitalizes on it, grabs tight as a vice upon the soft give of Baze’s sides and _pulls._ Baze gasps when he almost collapses forward, hands slamming against the tall headboard to catch himself, before losing all his breath on an overwhelmed wail as the change in positions allows Chirrut to ruthlessly grind into his most sensation-wracked nerves. Chirrut closes his hand around Baze’s cock once more, stroking him fast and tight while smiling adoringly up at Baze.

“Chirrut, Chirrut, Chirrut,” he chants, voice raw as kyber ore, “fuck, Chirrut, I’m so close.”

Chirrut licks his lips and croons, “Come for me, Baze. Let me feel it.”

Chirrut flicks his thumb along the frenulum of his cock and Baze succumbs to the orgasm that courses through him like the shock wave of a meteor breaking apart in the atmosphere, every foundational beam of his being crumbling under the intensity, laying him bare and weak and tremulous. He watches in a shattered-earth daze as his cock jerks in Chirrut’s hand and paints across his husband’s front, from his corset to his chest—one stripe flies far enough to splatter his mouth, a shock of white bisecting his shining ruby lips. Baze can’t hear over his thundering heart, but his eyes are riveted to Chirrut’s mouth when he darts his tongue out to taste and he can read his husband’s lips with crystal-clarity when he says, _“Good boy.”_

Baze shivers as he slides off Chirrut’s cock to collapse at the foot of the bed, limbs wobbly like a newborn foal. He sluggishly shifts to wrap his hand around Chirrut with the intent of finishing him off, but the other man bats his hand away and lunges forward with a ferocity normally reserved for life-or-death battles. Baze gives an abortive yelp when he’s knocked flat on his back and down the bed far enough that his hair spills off the mattress. Chirrut thrusts back into him without preamble, hands and teeth clamped ironclad upon his hips and throat, and Baze whimpers brokenly as his eyes roll back. His control over his own body is in tatters; he can do nothing more but tangle his fingers into the corset’s laces while Chirrut ruts like a man possessed, muttering unintelligible yet unmistakably vulgar words into his ear. Baze has no idea what noises are being wrenched out of his own mouth, but they spur his husband on to fuck him through the bed, or perhaps fuck him _off_ the bed, snapping his hips hard enough to jostle Baze’s body so his head hangs upside down over the edge.

Blood rushes to his head, though some of it valiantly tries to go to his spent cock, and Baze thinks, dizzy and helpless, _“Oh gods, saints, and martyrs, I can’t come again, not now.”_

Chirrut’s frenzied thrusting devolves into erratic jackrabbiting until he finally moans, hoarse and strung out with his face buried in Baze’s neck, the full length of his body pressed against Baze and jolting like an automaton breaking down in slow motion. Baze tightens around Chirrut’s cock to draw out his orgasm and sighs contentedly when he’s rewarded with a muffled curse and a flood of warmth.

He smacks Chirrut on the flank, “Now pull me back up the bed, you animal.”

Chirrut nips his jaw and shuffles backwards on his haunches, dragging Baze with him til his back hits the headboard and Baze is fully situated on the mattress once more. Baze can only give out a quiet groan when Chirrut pulls out before flopping down beside him.

Chirrut pants like a thoroughbred—Baze thinks for half a second that _he’s_ the thorough-bred and wheezes out a tired laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Chirrut asks once he’s gathered enough breath.

Baze shares the thought and his husband slaps the mattress with an exhausted cackle.

“Ooooh, we are both going to _feel_ this in the morning,” Chirrut sighs out, equal parts rueful and sated.

“I’m feeling it right now,” Baze jokingly gripes back, lifting an overcooked noodle-limp arm to pet Chirrut’s scalp and kissing his forehead, “Need help taking off the corset?”

Chirrut grunts—it’s one of Baze’s grunts which amuses him to no end—and Baze plucks at the laces til they come loose. Chirrut flops onto his back to fumble at the front clasps, fingers clumsy yet swift. Once they’re undone, Chirrut pauses, flutters his eyelashes at Baze, and pretends to rip off the corset while swooning, “Oooh Mister Malbus ooh, take me now.”

Baze clutches his stomach as he nearly laughs himself sick and Chirrut flashes the gummy grin of unholy glee as he shucks the corset to the side. He sucks in a breath, holds it, and exhales with exaggerated relief, “Sweet freedom.”

Baze ugly-snorts, “The air smells like sex, I wouldn’t call it sweet.”

“Sweet freedom from arbitrary beauty standards,” Chirrut amends, sitting up when Baze’s stomach growls, “I brought you food from the banquet. Let me clean us up first.”

“Thank you, love,” Baze hums.

Chirrut drops a kiss high on his cheek as he saunters towards the bathroom, treating Baze to a fantastic view of his pert ass. Baze marvels at his luck and smiles. 

Afterwards as they munch on extravagant hors d’oeuvres and fail to keep the crumbs off the bed, the oppressive musk of sweat and lust dissipating as fresh air drifts in from the window, an idea slowly percolates in Baze’s head.

“We should hand off some of the toiletries to the younglings. I’m sure Bodhi will appreciate the mango-scented shampoo. We’ll have to pack carefully for the trip back to base.”

Chirrut swallows his mouthful of mini quiche and frowns perplexedly, “Why would we need to do that?”

Baze thumbs at a smear of cheese on Chirrut’s upper lip and says, “We’ll need to make room for your new formal wear.”

“You liked the dress that much?” Chirrut asks facetiously, before sucking Baze’s thumb into his mouth with a smirk. Baze wonders half-heartedly if they’ve recovered enough for a second round and replaces his thumb with his tongue. He pulls back, Chirrut chasing after his lips, and rumbles,

“You should keep the clothes. Wear them for our anniversary.”

**Author's Note:**

> Additional shout out to my dude Ernst for this fan-fucking-tastic porn: http://macpye.tumblr.com/post/161592780879/another-nsfw-study-this-time-a-sexual-situation
> 
> It set my brain on fire.
> 
> If you wanna hit me up, I'm rockcandyshrike on tumblr and I'm always down to chat/get screamed at. <3 please comment bc i'm a needy needy ho for attention


End file.
